Banks of Red River

Poitin

River. Métis. Blood letter. This CD reflects the Red River region through its music and its connection to the Celtic world. Through its stories, rhythms and sounds, Poitin explores the land of visionary Louis Riel and composer Andy DeJarlis, focusing on the convergence of native and Irish cultural elements. We have found a new spirit in this music, and we hope your spirit is touched as well.

Credits & Lyrics

River. Métis. Blood letter.

This CD reflects the Red River region through its music and its connection to the Celtic world. Through its stories, rhythms and sounds, Poitin explores the land of visionary Louis Riel and composer Andy DeJarlis, focusing on the convergence of native and Irish cultural elements.

We have found a new spirit in this music, and we hope your spirit is touched as well.

Of late, a noble steamer, the Cedar Grove by nameAll across the briny ocean, from London City came.Whilst steering on one stormy night, to thick to see the landBy some miscalculation near Canso she did strand

The weather thick and stormy, the lookout at his postFirst saw the sign of danger, was the breakers on the coastThe order it was given, the engines to reverse“Starboard your helm! Our ship is off her course!”Ch.Bound for Halifax and the city of St. JohnThe latter port we did belongShe was well-built on the banks of the clydeBut with rocky Canso, did collide

And soon she gained deep water, and yet her doom was sealedThe briny flood rushed in, and then to port she keeledThe heavy weight of water, from forward it did goBursting into all compartments, and down our ship did go.

To you I’ll send this letterTo tell of my grief and painAnd as I lay imprisonedHow I long to see you again

And you my beloved motherAnd all my comrades dearI will write these words in my own bloodFor no pen or ink be near

My friends in arms, my childrenPlease weep for me and prayKnow I fought to keep our countrySo that we may always be free

And when you receive this letterPlease weep for me and prayThat I may die with braveryAll alone that fateful day

Ballad of Louis Riel music traditional, words by Don Rice3:46

Hear the tales of stalwart men who talk of days gone byRound the fire they ramble on with anger in their eyesAbout the leader of the band that kept Fort Garry safeThey tell of him who came to die on the gallows here that day

For Schultz and Scott he had no grace, he gave them both their dueMacDonald’s scorn was hotly felt, when Scott’s demise he knewTo save our land, the Great Northwest, he tread the narrow wayand Louis Riel came to die in on the gallows here today

In black cravat and clean white shirt, he listened to their lies“They say I am a lunatic, a prophet, lo, says I”For the people and the land, I fought, for the Meti life I prayBut Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today

Henderson, the hangman scorned, gave purpose to his hate.He taunted Riel as he died, and the noose dealt out its fateThe Lord’s Prayer was on his lips, the prophet dared to prayAnd Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today.And Louis Riel came to die on the gallows here today.

Put the saddle on the mare, For the wet winds blowThere's winter in the air, And autumn all below.For the red leaves are flying And the red bracken dying, And the red fox lying Where the oziers grow.

(chorus)Put the bridle on the mare, For my blood runs chill; And my heart, it is there, On the heather-tufted hill, With the gray skies o'er us, And the long-drawn chorus Of a running pack before us From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,For it's time that we began, And away with thought and care, Save to live and be a man, While the keen air is blowing,And the huntsman holloing, And the black mare going, As the black mare can.

Oh my darling dear, its you and I must part,I am bound to cross the ocean pray keep me in your heart;For I am to board new vessel so fare you well my dear I must release my days a board the binded, dusted, sphere

Oh,my darling dear, stay sound if you can,Many a man has lost his life since this cruel war began.Stay you near my darling dear, to keep me from the coldFor every heart and hand you've touched, has been drawn more bold

Oh, my darling dear I bitterly bid adieuyour good ship, she lies at anchor in the harbor so bluego run up our colours and take to the sea with no fearfor you will soon let all know that time is ne'er more dear.

And when this war is over pray God has spared our spines,and that we return in health back to our homes and livesand when i am homeward bound to meet the arms of my dearwe'll toast the sound, sturdy timbers that did remain here.

In Dublin town, where I did dwell, lived a butcher boy I loved so wellHe courted me my life away, and now with me he will not stayI wish, I wish, but I wish in vain. I wish I was a maid againBut a maid again, I ne’er can be, ‘til apples grow on an ivy tree.

She went upstairs to go to bed, and calling to her mother said“Bring me a chair, so I sit down, and a pen and ink, so I write down”At every word, she shed a tear, after every line, cried “Willie, dear”Oh, what a foolish girl was I, to be let astray by the butcher boy.

He went upstairs, and the door he broke, and found her hangin’ from a ropeHe took his knife and he cut her down, and in her pocket these words he found“Make my grave large, wide and deep. Put a marble stone at my head and feetAnd in the middle, a turtle dove, so the world may know, I died for love”

The White 99/Buffalo Galstraditional2:49

Old Fred, sitting on top of an old hill,Trying to distill his moonshine.

And when his moonshine is distill’t’d,All his neighbors will have a good time.

And all of the boys that drink from his bottle,They call it the White 99.

And now old Fred is sitting by his table,And his bottle is empty again.

Now boys, take this as good warning,Please don’t drink Freddy’s White 99.

And when Old Fred is dead and gone,There’ll be no more White 99.

(chorus)Buffalo gals, won’t you come out tonight,Come out tonight, come out tonight?Buffalo gals won’t you come out tonight,And dance by the light of the moon?

As I was walking down the street, Down the street, down the street,A pretty little gal I chanced to meet,Oh she was fair to see.

(chorus)

I stopped her and we had a talk, Had a talk, had a talk,Her feet took up the whole sidewalk,And left no room for me.

(chorus)

I asked her if she’d have a dance, Have a dance, have a dance,I thought that I might have a chance,To shake a foot with her.

(chorus)

I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking,And her knees kept a-knockin’, and her toes kept a rockin’,I danced with a gal with a hole in her stockin’,And we danced by the light of the moon.

O When I was a young girl, I heard my mother sayThat I was a foolish maiden, and easily led astrayAnd before I would work, I would rather sport and playWith my Johnny, on the Banks of Red River

On the Banks of Red River, his love and he sat downAnd he took out his fiddle, for to play his love a tuneIn the middle of the tune, oh, the lovely maid, she said,Oh, my Johnny, dearest Johnny, do not leave me

Then he took her to his lodge, and he treated her to tea,Saying, drink. my dearest Mary, and come along with meSaying drink my dearest Mary, and come along with meTo the lovely sweet Banks of Red River.

Then they walked and they talked, ’til they came unto a caveWhere Johnny all the day had been digging up a graveWhere Johnny all the day had been digging up a graveFor to leave his Mary low along Red River.

Then he pull’d out his trade knife, it was both long and sharpAnd he plunged it right into his own dear Mary’s heartYes, he plunged it right into his own dear Mary’s heartAnd he left her lying low along Red River.

Tramps and Triumphs

Poitin

For our 4th CD release, we thought we would take some inspiration from one of Jim's ancestors, historian and pioneer newspaperman John T. Bell, who fought with the 2nd Iowa in the American Civil War. Irish music has had a wide influence on music in America and here we explore Irish and American experiences around the Civil War era. We added some jigs and reels, some new originals and a couple of old favorites. Tramps and Triumphs it is the result.

Produced and Recorded by Bob Schieffer at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MNMastering by Darren Skanson, Colorado Creative StudiosPhotography by Haney’s PhotographyGraphic Design by John BerdahlCopyright 2010 Poitin. All rights reserved.

Little History by Jim Haney, Jr.From my earliest memories, back in the Fifties, I was aware that my ancestors had fought in the American Civil War.

There was a room upstairs at my great uncle Albert Bell’s Sarpy County, Nebraska farmhouse which contained my great-great Grandfather Will Bell’s cavalry saber, two battle drums, two Springfield rifles, some cannon balls- a Sharps carbine, his bayonet, and a .36 caliber Navy Colt pistol. We knew he had been a cavalryman, in the Fifth Iowa Cavalry, and a dispatch rider. The story handed down to us was that he had been sabered in a battle and had lost an eye in the fight.

Two years ago, I drew my dad’s name for a Christmas gift. Bought him a copy of ‘Southern Storm’, by Noah Andre Trudeau, a new book about Sherman’s March to the Sea during the Civil War. While reading the bibliography, I saw that one of the sources named was ‘Tramps and Triumphs of the Second Iowa Infantry’ by John T. Bell. My ancestor’s brother. My great great great uncle.

One thing led to another, and we discovered that Uncle John T. Bell was the author of at least five books of history, two about the Civil War. Due to the wonders of the Internet, we were able to obtain copies of those John Bell books, including ‘Tramps and Triumphs’. In places in his dry dispassionate military history, he expresses his-and the other Volunteers’ belief- that common men fought and died for four terrible years –not to preserve the Union- but to end the terrible institution of Slavery.

Ye fighting men of North and SouthI'd have your ear my friendsA story of valor and courage toldTrue to meet my endsSome volunteer lads from IowaMinnesota and Nebrask'Who broke the cruel slaver's chainsLet's all hoist a flask!

(chorus)We fought like Hell and rang the bellOf Liberty for allThese are the tramps and triumphs ofThe Second Iowa

In that cold winter of '62,The blizzards they did blowOn board of a big side-wheelerAll the way from Old St. Lou,We disembarked at Cairo To the battle sounds we marchedWe charged the Rebs at Donelson,Old Sam, he tipped his hat

We stood firm at the Hornet's NestGeneral Johnston was laid lowWallace was late and good men diedAt the church they called ShilohThe Rebs, they fought and charged four timesAnd the Rebel cannon roaredBut they doffed their caps To those that were leftOf the Second Iowa

We tramped on down to Corinth townAnd battled the Boys in GreyWe fought for Battery RobinettAnd we raised our tattered flagHeaded South with Uncle BillFighting all the wayWhen Savannah fellThey cheered full wellFor the Second Iowa

Foxhunters/Cripple Creek traditional 3.24

Stewball traditional 3.40

Old Stewball was a racehorse,And I wish he were mineHe never drank waterHe only drank wine

I rode him in England,I rode him in SpainAnd I'll bet you five dollarI'll ride him again

His bridle was silverAnd his mane it was goldAnd the worth of his saddleHas never been told

The fairgrounds was crowdedAnd Stewball was thereBut the betting was heavyOn the bay and the mare

They're out there a'runnin'About half way aroundWhen the gray mare she stumbledShe fell on the ground

Then away up yonderAhead of them allCome a'prancin' and a'dancin'My noble Stewball

I bet on the gray mareI bet on the bayIf I'd a bet on old StewballBe a free man today

The hoot owl she holleredThe turtle dove moanedI'm a poor boy in trouble I'm a long way from home

Old Stewball was a racehorse,And I wish he were mineHe never drank waterHe only drank wine

In another younger day, I could dream the time awayIn the universe inside my room.And the world was really mine from June until SeptemberAnd if it wasn't really so, well I was lucky not to know,And I was lucky not to wonder why'Cause the the summer time is all that I remember.

Summerfly was buzzing every night when I was young,In the gentle world my child-like senses knewWhen the world was just my cousinAnd the wind was just the tone,In the voice my lonely moments listened to.

And I look at me today and the dreams have gone away,And I am where I never thought I would be,Seeing things I never thought I would seeHappening to me.And I lay awake at night, while the darkness turns to light,Hearing voices calling out my name,Droning over again the same message to me:

Down by the Salley Gardens, My love and I did meet,She passed the Salley Gardens With her little snow-white feet.

She bid me take love easy,As the leaves grow on the trees,But I, being young and foolish,With her I would not agree.

In a filed down by the riverMy love and I did stand.And on my leaning shoulderShe laid her snow-white hand

She bid me take life easy,As the grass grows on the weir,But I was young and foolish,And now I am full of tears.

Keel Row Slide & PolkasKeel Row/Gan Ainm/Skipton Roadtraditional2.57

Vicksburg text traditional, music by Jason Thorstad 6.12

On Vicksburg's globes and bloody groundA dying soldier lay,His thoughts were on his happy home,Some thousand miles away.

Oh comrades dear, come close to me,My heart's with you today,Come hear the word I have to sendSome thousand miles away,

An' when you meet my mother dear,Be careful how you speak,The cords of life are almost run,Her heart may be too weak,

An' there's another so dear to me,She's gentle as a moonbeamShe lives behind yon distant glow,Down by the murmurin' stream,

An' when I'm dead take this here ringAn' bear it to yon shore,Tell to her 'tis the gift of oneWho sleeps to wake no more,

An' here's a tress her own hand gave,With it I never shall part,An' when I'm dead don't you forgetTo press it to my heart,

The blood fast trickled down his side,A tear stood in his eye,He sighed, I ne'er shall see thee more,Sweet maid, before I die.Oh comrades dear, come close my eyes,An' make for me my last cold bed,Before the mornin' sun shall riseI shall be numbered amongst the dead.

Down the Down

Poitin

An album with a mix of old favorites, maybe played a little differently, some new dance music, and some fine original songs. Jason, Bettina, and Teresa came up with some sets; Bettina, Bonnie and Don each contributed songwriting talents.

This is our third CD and the first with this line-up. The POITIN veterans, Don, Bob Teresa, Bonnie and Jim are joined by talented young musicians, Bettina Villamil, Jason Thorstad, Pat Crary and Alex Rydell.

Produced at Single Malt Studios, Moorhead, MN by Bob Schieffer and assisted by Jared Anderson.

Dempsey’s JigsTraditionalGraemsay Jig / Around The World For Sport / Haste To The Wedding

Waiting on the StrandMusic and Lyrics by Bonnie Haney

CHORUSYou’ll be here You will be hereYou will be here soon I can feel you nearI can feel you near

Standing here by day, by nightWaiting for my heart’s delightI can see by candlelightWhere my love shall be Where my love shall be

I shall wait through fog and coldWaiting shepherds flock to foldTo me you shall come to holdI would swim the seaI would swim the sea

Here I’m standing o’er the hillWaiting for my love at willI will lie here oh so stillWaiting on the strand Waiting on the strand

Come Out Ye Black and TansMusic Traditional, Lyrics by Dominic Behan

I was born on a Dublin street where the royal drums do beat.And them lovin’ English feet, they tramped all o’er us.And almost every night, when me dad would come home tight,He’d invite the neighbors outside with this chorus.

CHORUS:Come out ya black and tans.Come out and fight me like a man.Tell your wives how you won medals down in Flanders.Tell ‘em how the IRA made you run like hell awayFrom the green and lovely lanes of Killeshandra

Let them hear you tell, how you slammed the great Parnell.How you fought him well and truly persecuted.Where are the cheers and jeers that you bravely let us hearWhen our heroes of ’16 were executed.

Tell them how you slew, those brave Arabs two by two.Like the Zulus, they had spears and bows and arrows.How you bravely slew each one, with your 16-pounder gun.And you frightened them poor natives to the marrow.

The time is comin’ fast, and the day is here at last,When each yeoman will be cast aside before us.And if there be a need, sure my kids will yell “Godspeed,”And they’ll sing a verse or two of this fine chorus.

Come listen to my story, and I'll tell you no lies, how John Lewis done murdered poor little Omie Wise,He asked her to meet him at Adams's spring, he promised her money and other fine things,

Though he gave her no money, yet he flattered the case. Saying we’ll go and get married, And there'll be no disgrace." She got up behind him, and away they did rideAll down by the river, Where the deep waters flow.

Two boys went a-fishin’, on a fine summers dayWhen the body of little Omie, came floating away.They cast their net around her, and they drew her to the bank.Her clothes all wet and muddy, and they laid her on a plank.

Then they sent for John Lewis, for to come to that place.And they held up little Omie, so that he might see her face.Though he made no confession, they carried him to jail.And no friends or relations, would go on his bail.

Horo JohnnySean McCarthy

CHORUSHoro Johnny, won’t you come home soon,The winter is coming and I’m all alone,A candle is burning in my window, love,And the wild geese, they are coming home.

A young man’s love is something to behold,First it burns and then it soon turns so cold.He’ll whisper in the moonlight and your hand he’ll hold,Then he’ll vanish like the morning dew.

He’ll court you by a meadow in the summertime,When first you love it is the sweetest time.He’ll promise a golden ring and then one day,He’ll vanish with the morning dew.

You’ll be waiting for his footsteps in the room,Listen by the window, he’ll be coming soon.Your heart will be breaking by the early dawn,For he’ll vanish with the morning dew.

So come all you young men who are in your prime,A young maiden’s love is like the rarest wine,When first you taste it ‘tis the golden time,Sweeter than the morning dew

Devil is DeadTraditional

CHORUS:Some say the devil is dead, the devil is dead, devil is dead.Some say the devil is dead and buried in Killarney.More say he rose again.More say he rose again. (audience)More say he rose againAnd joined the British army.

Feed the pigs and milk the cow,And milk the cow and feed the pigsFeed the pigs and milk the cow,So early in the morning.Polly put the kettle on.The kettle’s siging loud and strong.Polly put the kettle on.Get out of bed this morning.

My old man is 8 feet tall, he’s 8 feet tall, 8 feet tall.My old man is 8 feet tall.He drinks a lot of Guinness.Had to build a bigger bed, Had to find a bigger bed,Had to buy a bigger bedFor him and all his misses.

Katie she is tall and thin, tall and thin, tall and thin.Katie she is tall and thin.She likes her sugar candy.Eats it in the bed at night.Eats it in the bed at nightEats it is the bed at night.It makes her nice and randy.

My wife she has a hairy thing, a hairy thing, a hairy thing.My wife she has a hairy thing,She showed it to me Sunday.Bought it in the finest shop.Bought it in the finest shop.Bought it in the finest shop.It’s going back on Monday.

The MermaidTraditional

It was Friday morn when we set sailAnd we were not far from the landWhen our captain he spied a mermaid so fairWith a comb and a glass in her hand

CHORUSAnd the ocean waves do rollAnd the stormy winds do blowAnd we poor sailors are skipping at the topWhile the land-lubbers lie down below, While the land-lubbers lie down below

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant shipAnd a fine old man was he"This fishy mermaid has warned me of our doomWe shall sink to the bottom of the sea"

Then up spoke the first mate of our gallant shipAnd a fine spoken man was heSaying I have a wife in Brooklyn by the seaAnd tonight, a widow she will be

Then up spoke the mate of our gallant shipAnd a fine spoken man was heSaying "I have a wife in Salem by the seaAnd tonight she'll be weeping for me"

Then up spoke the cook of our gallant shipAnd a crazy old butcher was heI care more for my pots and my pansThen I do for the bottom of the sea

Three times round spun our gallant shipAnd three times round spun sheThree times round spun our gallant shipAnd she sank to the bottom of the sea

Lanigan’s BallTraditional

In the town of Athy one Jeremy LaniganBattered away 'til he hadn't a pound.His father he died and made him a man againLeft him a farm and ten acres of ground.He gave a grand party to friends and relationsWho didn't forget him when came to the well,And if you'll but listen I'll make your eyes glistenOf the rows and the ructions of Lanigan's Ball.

Myself to be sure got free invitation,For all the nice boys and girls I might ask,And just in a minute both friends and relationsWere dancing as merry as bees 'round a cask.There were lashings of punch and wine for the ladies,Potatoes and cakes; there was bacon and tea,There were the Lally’s, the Lawler’s, and all the O'Heaney’sCourting the girls and dancing away.

They were doing all kinds of nonsensical polkas‘Round and around the room in a whirligig.Julia and I, we banished their nonsenseAnd tipped them the twist of a real Irish jig.Then, the girls, they all got mad at meDanced 'til they thought the ceiling would fall.I spent six months at Brooks' AcademyLearning to dance for Lanigan's Ball

CHORUSSix long months I spent up in Dublin,Six long months doin’ nothing at all,Six long months I spent up in Dublin,Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.She stepped out and I stepped in again,I stepped out and she stepped in again,She stepped out and I stepped in again,Learning to dance for Lanigan's Ball.

The boys, they were merry, the girls all heartyDancing all around in couples and groups,An accident happened, young Terrance McCarthyPut his right leg through miss Finnerty's hoops.Poor creature fainted and cried, ``Meelia murther,''Called for her brothers and gathered them all.Carmody swore that he'd go no further'Til he had revenge at Lanigan's Ball.

Boys, oh boys, 'twas then there were runctions.I got a kick from big Phelim McHugh.I replied to his introductionAnd kicked him a terrible hullabaloo.Kelly, the piper, was near being strangled.They leapt on his pipes, bellows, chanters and all.The boys and girls, they got all entangledAnd that put an end to Lanigan's Ball.

The Reel Conciliation Music in the Glen / An Ugly Customer / The ReconciliationMusic Traditional, Lyrics and arrangement by Bettina Villamil

Music in the Glen, Music in the Glen, Playing it out for all to hear again. Ain't had a drink since I don't know when, Now I'm back with my troubles singing in the Glen.

Music in the Glen, Music in the Glen, Playing it out for all to hear again. Loved my laddie like I loved my wine, And I woke up with that aching heart of mine.

Star of the County DownTraditional

Near Ban-bridge town, in the County DownOne morning last JulyDown a boreen green came a sweet colleenAnd she smiled as she passed me by.She looked so sweet from her two bare feetTo the sheen of her nut-brown hairSuch a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myselfFor to see I was really there.

CHORUSFrom Bantry Bay up to Derry QuayAnd from Galway to Dublin townNo maid I've seen like the brown colleenThat I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped sure I shook my headAnd I gazed with a feeling rareAnd I said, says I, to a passerby"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"He smiled at me, and he says, says he,"That's the gem of Ireland's crown.Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the BannShe's the star of the County Down."

She’s a soft brown eye and a look so slyAnd a smile like a Rose in JuneAnd you carved each note from her lovely throatAs she lilted an Irish tune At the pattern dance, you’d be held in tranceAs she tripped thru a jig or a reelWhen her eyes she’d roll, she would lift your soulAnd your heart she’d quickly steal

At the harvest fair, she’ll be surely thereSo I’ll dress in my Sunday clothesWith me shoes shone bright, and me hat cock’d rightFor a smile from me nut-brown roseNo pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yokeTill my plow is a rust-colored brownTill my smilin’ bride, by my own firesideSits the Star of the County Down

Down the DownMusic and Lyrics by Don Rice

He fought at the fair. They called him the Irishman.He fought at the fair, bare-fisted with the boys.When he pulled their hair, they chased him through the townAnd down to the river he ran.

CHORUS:He ran down the down-stream run ‘cross the riverbed.He ran down the down-stream riffle of the creek.Swept o’er the falls, way down to the MississipAnd he felt himself drifting away.

He drank Irish whiskey, like it would be the death of him.He drank Irish whiskey, like water into wine.Lost all he had, and when they came for himDown to the river he ran

He moved to the city, patched holes in the ballroom wall.Moved to the city, patched up his life.Missed his dear brother. He would never be the same.And down to the river he ran

When he came back to town, they didn’t know what to make of him.When he came back to town, the mayor told him “Boy…You’re the richest man in town. By God, you showed them all.”And down to the river he ran.

So, I’m out to find true love, I hope I’m not to failI’m on the bow, the rigs are up, we’re off to go and sailWill it be the captain or will the friendship failOr will it be the cabin boy for love to prevailA fleeting heart, a maiden fair, I’m often in despair

Will this windy day blow me in my true love’s way?

The wind has changed, we’ve come about, the boom is on mi wayIt knocked me straight, right off the ship in the middle of the seaDid no one see, or even know, or notice that I fell?I’m on my own swimming frantically, I damn them all to LThen in my sight, a strapping man had offered me his hand

Has this windy day blown me in my true love’s way?

I grabbed his hand, he pulled me up, with tenderness and careOnto a boat, with not much room, but perfect for a pairI soon forgot the bitterness from that same early dayAnd on this ship, my mystery man has sailed us far awayAway from everyone and thing, to a new life and land

Has this windy day blown us in our new life’s way?

Now we’re in Ameri-cay, we’ve no-one here to knowWe haven’t much, a tiny home and a garden to growOur little ones, sing merrily with many friends to playNow it seems a world once grey is very far away. I’ve found mi love, mi love’s found me, we’ll grow so old and grey.

Has this windy day blown us in our new love’s way

When You And I Were Young, Maggie 1866, G.W. Johnson, and J.A. Butterfield-This was a favorite song of Jim's maternal grandparents,Margaret & John Lally of Vail, Iowa

I wandered today to the hills MaggieTo watch the scene belowThe creek and the creaking old mill MaggieWhere we sat long long ago

The green grass is all gone from the hill MaggieWhere once the daisies sprungThe creaking old mill now is still MaggieSince you and I were young

CHORUS And now we are agèd and grey, Maggie, And the trials of life nearly done, Let us sing of the days that are gone, Maggie, When you and I were young.

A city so silent and lone, Maggie, Where the young, and the gay, and the blest, In polished white mansions of stone, Maggie, Have each found a place of rest, Is built where the birds used to play, Maggie, And join in the songs that we sung; And we sang as gayley as they, Maggie, When you and I were young. And now I'm feeble with age, Maggie, My steps are less sprightly than then, My face is a well-written page, Maggie, And time alone was the pen. They say we are agèd and grey, Maggie, As sprays by the white breakers flung, But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie, When you and I were young.